


Chained Reaction (hiatus)

by Named



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Also Bad Things, Bad Parents, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, For My Writing Anyway, Good Friends, Happy, Hurt/Comfort, Japery, Like, Margaritas, Overarching plot, Physical Abuse, Pool Party, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sexual Tension, Stalking, Support, episodic, with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Named/pseuds/Named
Summary: Give me some moreTime in a dreamGive me the hope to run out of steamSomebody said it could be hereWe could be roped up, tied up, dead in a yearWhile I love you more than words can sayI can't count the reasons I should stayOne by one, they all just fade awayBut I love you more than words can say





	1. Party Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "To write is human, to edit is divine."  
> —Stephen King
> 
> For my teachers and editors, Joe and Kimberly Steffen. I couldn't do it without your guidance!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [The 88- At Least It Was Here](https://youtu.be/lcyY3LHp_T0)

**_ i _ **

Frisk was often happiest when she was alone; at least, that’s what she liked to pretend. The earthy smell of damp soil clinging to her sweater and the scattered pink worms along the sidewalk calmed her. She picked up several of the sticky creatures at a time and let them tangle in her palm as she brought them back to their grassy domains.

They tickled her hand, little heads butting up against her skin as if she were their home in the soil.

Frisk smiled. She crouched by the nearest lawn and cradled one with lank fingers, placing it in the fluffy grass. It squirmed, discontented, as she placed a second one some distance away. She examined them, curling and scrambling on the changing terrain. Were they scared? Relieved, when they found themselves in sodden familiarity? She frowned at the thought, but a moment of fright was better than a blind death by a callous shoe.

The worms buried themselves, tails whipping as the disappeared—all but one rebellious one, who had crawled back onto the pavement while she wasn’t looking.

It was probably time to give up the venture, anyway. She stood and swiped her hands on her denim shorts. If she dawdled, her dad would come after her and step on them during the walk home, though maybe he was too deep in beers to notice she was gone. She shook the thought out of her head and tiptoed around the little creatures toward her house.

Sneakers squelched behind her, coaxing her from her fog.

She tightened, feeling for the straps of her backpack, her nails digging into the padding. Her gaze remained on her feet. Nobody wanted anything to do with her, to the point that most actively avoided her. They would pass by, she assured herself.

An arm swept around Frisk’s shoulders, dragging her into a quickened pace. Two college-age skeletons sandwiched her: one towered over her in clothes that said, ‘I have a job’; the other was nearly as short as she was and cozied against her side as if they’d been friends for years.

They must have mistaken her for someone else, but the tall one spoke before she had a chance to explain their error.

“HELLO, HUMAN!” he said. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HERE TO OFFER YOU A PROPOSITION!!”

His voice rang in her ears, and she found herself leaning into his comfortable, hoodie-clad friend to escape it.

The short one whipped discontentment in Papyrus’ direction, clearing his throat to bring attention to himself.

“AND MY TRUSTY Sidekick is here too…”

The sidekick rolled his eyes. “it’s sans, by the by,” he said, flattening a worm beneath his distracted step.

Frisk’s gut snagged at the sight, and she squealed, lurching to a halt.

His grin drooped. “what?” He backed away, drawing another mousy squeak from Frisk. “what’s wrong?” He searched around himself, dismayed.

His tall friend -Papyrus- pointed to his feet, shouting, “THE WORMS, SANS. YOU’RE STEPPING ON THE WORMS!”

“oh.” Sans moved into a blank space on the sidewalk, flashing an odd smile at Frisk, as if he were a puppy being scolded. “uh, sorry about that,” he said, scooping Frisk back up and prompting her forward. “i’ll watch where i’m goin’. wouldn’t wanna dig myself into a hole.” He winked.

The joke drew a smile to her lips, and she relaxed, keeping her hands locked on the straps of her backpack. Maybe if they were willing to dodge her little friends, they were okay. She let herself fall back into concentration, scanning all six feet as they danced around the thinning population on the pavement. Having company was okay too, as long as they didn’t want to talk.

“so you’re frisk, right?”

The sound invading her ears bothered her, but she nodded. “Did you read that in the paper or something?” she remarked flatly.

“AS A MATTER OF FACT, WE DID!!” Papyrus belted. “IN AN ARTICLE ABOUT YOUR CONVENIENTLY TIMED COMING-OF-AGE!!!”

“n-not that articles matter,” Sans said, trying to recover.

“OF COURSE THEY DO. IT’S THE REASON WE’RE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!” Papyrus leaned into Frisk, perching a hand on his chest. “I APOLOGIZE FOR MY BROTHER’S FORGETFULNESS.”

She deflated. No wonder. Her eighteenth birthday was probably plastered across blogs all over the web, headlining, “Local Hero Manages to Survive Another Year! When Will Her Luck Run Out?” At least her new pals kept avoiding the pink strands on the sidewalk. She appreciated that enough not to ditch them. Respect begets respect, she supposed.

The large, white pupils in Sans’ sockets penetrated her mask, and he read her intent, easing back into a saunter. “honestly, we just wanted ta see if you’d come to our party,” he said, extending a card to her between two pearl-white fingers.

She glanced at it. An address and time were scrawled in a green font next to a gaudy icon of booze. The party was tonight.

She didn’t want to hang out in a room crowded with strangers on such short notice, but she mulled it over as they inched toward her picketed house. The familiarity of her front door offered a better invitation. “Mmm, thanks, but I’m not the party-going type,” she said.

He flicked the card away, shrugging. “ah well. no hard feelings. see ya if you change your mind.”

But she didn’t remember the address…

“ADIOS, NEW FRIEND!” Papyrus waved, still shouting as they gained distance. “SANS, YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!!”

A smirk pricked her lips as she reached for the brass knob, but the door opened on its own. A movement inside drew her eyes. “Hi, Daddy,” she said, an innocent smile disguising her apprehension.

Oil and gasoline smudged his skin and clothes. His hair was disheveled. His navy-blue uniform shirt, half tucked into his jeans, opened to a stained undershirt. He looked between his daughter and the receding figures. “Who are they?”

Frisk’s stomach twisted. She glanced at the thick curtains covering the windows. “I dunno.”

Skepticism narrowed his eyes as he pushed past her. “What do you mean you don’t know? What’d they want?” he snapped, peering.

Panic clenched her gut, and she swept past him, maintaining her aloof air. “Nothing! All they did was walk me home.”

“Bullshit.” He hooked the loop of her backpack, jerking her to the side.

Frisk’s heart raced. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, pleading, “I swear, they’re nice guys! They even stepped around the worms.”

His eyes went as wide as his gaping mouth. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Her lip trembled. “I—”

“What’s your fascination with worms, Frisk? They’re worms. Literally, the bottom of the food chain.” He sliced the air with his free hand. “No one gives a shit about the dumb things but you!”

Wetness coated her lashes. She scrubbed it away with a floppy sleeve.

An iron hand clamped around her arm, yanking her inside.

“Ow, that hurts!”

“Are you stupid?” He slammed the door behind her. “Do you think those guys were walking with you so they could watch you prance around some slimy bugs?”

“They’re not bugs.”

“Don’t back talk me,” he spat.

“They aren’t bugs, and I was fine!”

“Are you serious? You look like a twelve-year-old kid with two twenty-year-olds stalking you to our house, and you can’t see a problem with that?”

Heat washed over her. “Well, I’m _not_ twelve, and I can walk home without you babysitting me from the windowsill.” She wrenched away, walking into her room with forced calm and locking herself inside like the adult she was.

Frisk deflated, pulling homework from her bag and lining it up on her desk, but it was useless. She couldn’t even concentrate on that small task. Her brain scrambled between worms, those boys, and her fight with her father. And, her dumb pens kept hooking together. What was she supposed to do with six pens at once?

She snatched the entire bunch from her bag. A wrinkled card with scrawling green font locked the clips together.

She plucked it free, turning it over in her hand. Holding that thick, white card between her fingers filled Frisk with **_determination_**.

 

**_ ii _ **

Frisk’s nerves thrummed, but she forced herself to knock on the strange front door. Music swelled through the walls, muffling her dicey rap, and she exhaled with relief. Maybe they wouldn’t hear her. It wasn’t too late to go home and pretend she hadn’t filled her head with lies, like the absurd idea that anyone actually wanted her here. It was just a fluke moment of selfish bravery that would—

The door opened.

Electricity buzzed through her, a self-preserving smile slapping across her face. It was a dweebish one, and it made her want to run away all the more.

A muscle-bound seahorse leaned against the doorframe. He raised a brow at her as he flexed his tan, prize-winning biceps. “Check all you want,” he said with a wink.

Frisk said, “Uh…I’m okay.”

Amusement fell from the seahorse’s expression.

“I mean…nice biceps?”

“Hah, you’re cute.” He winked, pecking the air with his toned lips.

Discomfort prickled her skin. “Can I just…?” She flattened, slipping into the house.

A redhead shambled in the background, soaking the hardwood with her drink, boisterous puff in her chest.

The seahorse caught sight of himself in the door’s window as he closed it and began a lovemaking session with his reflection.

Bass punched her ears, and she shifted in her spot. She didn’t know anyone here. What was she supposed do, stand by the door and play body guard? At least the seahorse was still here. She gestured awkwardly at him. “So…what’s your name?”

“Aaron~” His pupils remained fixed on his reflection.

Bile churned in her stomach, but her mouth jabbered on. “Really? Do you spell it with an _A_ or an _E_ , because I had a friend who spells it A-a-r-”

He searched her with disinterest. “Hey, that’s cool and all, but I kinda need to get back to the pong,” he said.

She stiffened, mortified, her muscles tensing into immobility. _Nod, you fool_!

She nodded.

He left.

Regret filled her as she stared into the now empty space. Her father was right. Something was wrong with her.

Fingers ruffled her shaggy, auburn bob, and a familiar voice said, “don’t worry about that guy. he’s a bit of a dumbbell, if ya know what i mean.” Sans winked, guiding her away from the door and into the living room.

Frisk laughed and then swatted her mouth. She needed to control herself. Stop acting so stupid, _stupid_ , **_stupid_**.

Sans chortled, handing her a red plastic cup filled with a sloppy, frozen margarita. “here, have a drink. take a load off. It’s a party! the only rule is that ya gotta _chill_.” He emphasized the words by signing ‘hang loose’, and left Frisk to the business of chilling.

She summoned courage, drew a breath, and downed the drink in one go. Candied drain cleaner coated her tongue as the drink slid down her throat, instantly fluffing her consciousness.

Her eyes moved around the room. She was an observer on a private island, watching the rolling waves of snogging couples and hyped belligerents. A hot tub glowed through a cascading glass wall, a pool glimmering behind it. It showed off the expensively appointed backyard and the rich friends who sat in it.

Her skin flushed. This world floated above her, watching her through a magnifying glass, and pointing out everything that made her wrong as a person. Maybe she needed to drink more; She wasn’t loose or chill in the least.

She shuffled along walls, escaping to the only closed off room in the otherwise open-concept mini-mansion: the kitchen. Whirring emanated above the throbbing hip-hop, a margarita machine mixing away in the corner.

Frisk went over for a second helping and filled her cup with the mush, tequila burning her nostrils. She clicked the machine off…

But it continued to ooze.

She flipped the switch on and then off again, frost flooding over her fingers. She bent, slurping chilly globs while stretching for a second container.

An entire stack clattered to the floor and laughed along the tile.

She jumped at the noise, managing to grab one. Frozen alcohol puddled on the floor as she placed her saving grace beneath the nozzle and drank from the cup that was burning her hand with cold.

The second cup burst in seconds, painting the floor with blots of neon green.

She abandoned both, and their contents spattered the tile backsplash and cabinets, turning the room into a modern art showcase. She stuck her mouth around the spout. Brain freeze. This was the worst idea. Margarita rained on her face. Her cheeks bulged, tequila spurting down her neck and into her hair. Now she would be the idiot who reeked of alcohol all night, not because she drank too much, but because she spilled the entire contents of the machine on herself.

The lights tapped on. Sans traipsed in and went blank when he saw her.

She blanked back. Green frost dripped from her face.

He held back laughter, unfazed by anything but the humor of the situation, and strolled over, plucking the black cord from the wall.

Relief engulfed her as she jumbled upright, choking on chipmunked alcohol.

“ _hoooww_?!” he asked, failing at the not- laughing thing.

Frisk’s head pulsated. She swallowed what was left in her mouth and dug her fingers into her temples. “I don’t even know! It wouldn’t stop pouring!”

Sans threw open a drawer full of pristine towels and flopped them on the mess, suppressing a snort. “this isn’t exactly what i meant when i said to chill.”

She screeched, “I know that!”

He hacked with laughter as he fished for his phone and pointed it at Frisk.

Frantic fingers covered her deep blush. “Are you trying to take a picture of me?” She flailed.

“shhh! unless you want everybody seeing you like this.” The camera snap held no shame.

She glared between him and the phone.

“fuhgeddaboudit, it’s…something to remember the moment by.” A boyish smile played on his lips. He pushed the sleek brick into a pocket in his shorts and grabbed Frisk by the hand, cutting away her chance to protest. He poked his head around the corner and murmured, “follow me.”

She sloshed after him, flying to a level of drunk that was impossible.

Sans stopped and nudged open a door. He gestured inside with a thumb.

Curious, she peeked. It was a laundry room. “What am I s’posed to do in there? Stand around naked for an hour while I run a load through?” Her tongue was getting sloppy. She needed to reel that in.

“that, or you could jump in the pool with all your clothes on.”

Frisk raised a brow at him.

His smirk grew sheepish. “what? bathroom’s occupied…”

“Was the other option showering fully clothed?”

“uh…” Sans fumbled, prodding her into the room and shutting the door.

Exasperated, Frisk set her phone on the dryer. She stumbled as she peeled off her clothes and then hefted them into the washer. Now there was the issue of her body. Her skin stuck to itself like a frog out of water, but she shrank at the thought of splashing herself with water from the washer. Maybe she should ask Sans what to do. But she didn’t have any clothes on…Did she really care, though?

A burning giddiness filled her, and she crept to the door, poking her head into the hallway. “Psst, Sans! You out there?”

He looked up from his cellular browsing. “yeah, what’s up?”

Frisk was surprised he had bothered to stick around. “What am I supposed to do about this?” She touched her cheek, demonstrating the shlick of tacky glue that coated her.

He glanced around the hall, as if the answer might pop into the corridor. When it didn’t, he resorted to shrugging.

Tingles crawled along her belly, and a gremlin grin smeared her mouth. “What about the pool?”

A rouge spread beneath his widened sockets. “aren’t you…naked, though? not that i would mind seeing you th—”

Frisk bolted for the pool, blinding her mind to all but her goal, for fear she might die in the midst of the people staring at her nudity. The glass door was open, and she thanked a thousand heavens she didn’t run into it. She jetted to the deep end and leapt, squawking as she splashed into the water. Deep bubbles rushed around her ears and chlorine stung her eyes. Her lungs tugged for air, and she surfaced.

In the living room, guests stiffened into cardboard cutouts; the foursome in the hot tub were pretty much in the same boat.

An exhilarating high ran through Frisk as she paddled over and rested her chin on the pool’s cobbled edge.

The four in the hot tub glanced at each other.

She giggled at their surprise, bounced her shoulders, and said, “What? You’ve got the warm end.”

A loud whooping permeated the music. Everyone’s attention, including Frisk’s, turned to the sound. “ _whooOOOOOO_.”

Naked, sans emerged from the house, his magic inflating as he jumped.

A tidal wave slapped the cement.

Shocked, Frisk spat chlorine, wiping it from her eyes.

He blurred under the ripples, closing in, popping up next to her with ragged breaths. “’sup?” He nodded at the group, catching Frisk with a wink.

Her heart leapt, a cartoonish grin showing all the way to her eyes. For once, she was not alone.

 

**_ iii_**

Frisk hadn’t expected her little jump into the pool to turn into an all out water war. Most people had even stripped to their underwear because, between the water guns and that panty-clad mermaid with a hose, their clothes started weighing them down.

She couldn’t stop smiling, even after she found herself in the laundry room, shoving on her soggy shorts and misshapen bra. She drug her stay out for as long as she could but everyone was going home. She couldn’t linger all night, as much as the thought crossed wistfully through her mind.

The door opened; a skull poked through the gap. Sans scanned the space and entered in nothing but dripping shorts, closing them into the small room.

Cheeks pink, Frisk tugged her clingy sweater over her torso. A toothy smile sprung to her lips. “Thanks for earlier. You kind of saved my butt.” She crossed her arms under her bosom, trying to hold in the butterflies.

A smug grin played on his features. “not a problem. it was all part of my master plan, anyway.” He winked. “undyne might have brawn, but i got the brains.” 

She snickered. “Skeletons have brains?”

A playful scowl tweaked his face. “well, no duh, ya little shit!”

Giggles bubbled from her throat, and his features softened with…admiration? She wasn’t sure.

A pregnant pause, and then he asked, “where ya going?”

“H-home,” she stammered, shrugging lamely. “I mean…like I said, I’m not really the party-going type.”

His feet scraped the tile as he hunted nearer. “and ta think I believed you.”

Heartbeats pattered against her chest. She went rigid, her lips parting soundlessly.

“if you’re gonna leave, at least gimme your number.”

The words bounced around her head. “Y-you want my…?” she trailed.

“yeah, I do.” He took another step, rummaging his phone from his pocket, and holding it out to her. They stood toe to toe.

“Okay…” She unlocked her arms, which felt as substantial as pudding, and attempted to take it.

He didn’t let go. His hungry sockets locked onto her lips.

Then the door cracked against the wall like a firework. “You better get your fuckin’ carcass hands off my daughter before I dust your sorry ass!”

Sans stiffened.

Frisk turned to stone.

Her father boiled into the room, his face red as steaming cherries against the white walls.

He came after her? Why? How? It wasn’t possible. She fused her eyelids together, willing herself home, to bed, asleep, away from this wild fantasy of betrayed bliss. But escape was a fantasy; this was reality, and she was delusional for even trying. Why had she come here?

The lights in Sans’ sockets dulled as he pulled robotically away from Frisk and planted his phone and hands deep in his pockets. He forced relaxation into his voice as he drawled, “Somethin’ wrong here?”

Her father lurched closer, fists crimped. “You looking for a fight, boy?”

Adrenaline shot through Frisk, and she pushed Sans out from between them. “P- _please_ don’t!” She fumbled. “How did you find me?”

Her father lifted a card from his pocket and tossed the acrid thing at her face. It wisped against her skin, dancing to the floor. “Found that in my yard. You thought you were being slick, didn’t you?”

Terror clawed up her feet, legs, torso, dilating her pupils. She should apologize, but she had been so blissful, and she didn’t want it to end. Not like this. Not ever. Her mouth bucked with bravery the rest of her didn’t feel, and she said, “I have every right to go where I want.”

Instantaneous regret seethed in her throat. She willed the words back into her vocal cords unsuccessfully, only to betray herself again.

Her father breached her space, crushing her cheeks between his fingers. Beer clung to his breath.

Sans twitched in her peripheral vision, but her owl eyes chained themselves to her father’s.

Deep grooves formed between his eyebrows, filling with violent intent. “You have every right? When you’re living under _my_ roof, and eating _my_ food you, Ungrateful WHORE?!” He thrust back his arm.

Frisk cowered.  
But the air hung empty.

A low voice snarled, “ **I wouldn’t do that if I were you**.”

She peeled her lids back.

Sans was strangling her father’s arm, his sockets radiating a cold, pitch black. His grin cut the room. “I’ll ask again. got a problem, **_buddy?_** ’Cause if ya do, **this isn’t the place**.”

Her father paled, but ferocity prevailed, and he jerked away, snatching Frisk into his grip. “I’m not your _buddy_ , and neither is _my_ daughter!” He dragged Frisk through the doorway, her body lolling empty behind him.

A few stragglers hung inside drying off or getting something warm to drink, and were snagged by the spectacle. By her. The brave spirits blurted choppy protests, and Sans was a shadow among them, seeping rage like whittle-tipped icicles.

Frisk scratched the stricken faces from her memory. Summer air stuffed her lungs, gravel sliced her desensitized feet. She wouldn’t allow pain. It wouldn’t matter for long, anyway.

Her father hauled her to the car, ripping the back door open, and throwing her in like a dirty rag. He climbed into the driver’s seat, taking deep breaths as he started the engine. Silence smoked around them. “How could you do this to your old man?” His voice quivered.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” She balled herself into the seat, rocking on her side, and letting saltwater leak.

He smacked the steering wheel, his voice drowning in helpless exasperation. “You used to be such a good girl, then you go taking your mother from me, and now _this_?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Where did I go wrong?”

“I’m sorry…”

And they drove, the rhythmic plopping of her every fault cutting into the silence, and Frisk chanting numb apologies.

She filled herself inch by inch with Novocain because, if she let herself feel, it would eat her alive. If only she could be someone else, none of this would have to happen. It was her fault that she lacked any drive, personality, future, friends…It was her fault that her father hated her and that her mother was gone. Her life was her fault, and she despised it.

The car stopped. They sat in the sludge of their actions, both unmoving for their own reasons.

Her father waited for a beat and asked, “You just gonna lay there?”

Silence bloated.

He waited for a minute longer, drumming his fingers on the tacky pleather of the steering wheel, and then exited the vehicle in a swift motion. He shut the car door behind him and then the door to the house, leaving Frisk alone.

She melted, covering her sopping face with her sleeves. She would sleep in the car. Everything would be fine if she ignored what she had tasted—what she’d lost before she ever had a chance with it.

A magnetic clunk rang against the window at her feet.

She flinched away from the noise.

A phone stuck precariously to the window with lazy silver tape.

She examined her inky surroundings, but the porch light did little to permeate it. How did that get there? She creaked open the door and snatched the phone free, yanking it inside and slamming the door.

It chimed twice in rapid succession.

She unlocked it, gaping at the notifications in disbelief.

Two icons floated on the screen. Texts. From Sans.

Her chest clenched, her finger hovering to open the texts. He must have added his number; there was no other way, but why? Pessimism bled through her thoughts. It had to be a joke. Maybe he gave it to her just to tell her to lose it, and he wanted nothing to do with her ugly face ever again. That’s what _she_ would have done—run far away, fast. But hope snaked into her thoughts. He had to have come all the way back to her house and tape the thing to her window for a reason, right?

She steeled herself, opening the messages.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans knocked tentatively on the bathroom door. “pap, you okay? ya missed the entire party.”
> 
> A constant stream of shattering, and what sounded like the shower curtain being ripped from the bar. Pap’s shouts were muffled, but still fully audible. “GET BACK HERE, YOU CONTRIVING CANINE!!!”
> 
> Sans tried the handle, but it was locked. He sighed, defeated, shrugging as he slumped away.


	2. Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slight POV change. I wanted to experiment with introspection.

**_ i_**

“It sounds like it’s coming from over here…

“He pushed you down, didn’t he…?

“Are you okay?

“Here, get up…

“Frisk, huh? That's a nice name.

“ **M   y        n   a   m   e       i   s** …” Fuzz wrapped Frisk’s consciousness, blearily pulling her away from the words which still echoed in her head. Her dream. It was important. She needed to go back. Who was shaking her? Stop it. _Stop touching me._

She froze, suddenly too aware of the hand on the soft round of her hip. Who was that? Her memory was fogged with drowsiness, but she shuffled away from the unusual feeling. “Dad?” she asked, still groggy and far from reality, unsure of who exactly “dad” was.

The hand snatched itself away. “Just me.”

The familiarity of his voice brought her back. She sighed, relieved. She was Frisk. This was her bed. Her room. Her dad.  
Her cheeks were wet.

“You were crying,” he said, brushing his fingers along her spine, cautiously at first and then, when she loosened, with more confidence.

Her eyelids felt so heavy. Why couldn’t he have just left her? She rolled to face the weight at the edge of her bed and rubbed the tears from her cheeks onto her blanket. “I don't remember why.” But it was important. If she concentrated hard enough, then maybe…she hopelessly studied her father—the concerned turn of his lips, the furrow of his brow.

A pang of guilt shot through her chest when she studied his weathered face—the lank gray strands on his head and permanent crow’s feet bracketing his eyes. When had he gotten so old? Maybe she just hadn’t been paying attention. The calm moments…they didn’t come very often anymore. No matter how hard she tried to keep her head down, she was always so restless. Always doing things that stressed him out. If she were better, maybe he could be happy.

Calloused fingers tucked her tousled bangs behind her ear. He asked, “You hungry?” and looked contentedly down at her, as if she were the world. His little girl. His baby. As if to him, she was still the seven-year-old from before all the bad in their lives.

And she was warm. Spoiled. Protected. If only she could stay like this and let things be okay for a little while. Her eyelids fell heavily, and whatever the nightmare was, it didn’t matter. She was safe.

And her father was himself. The real him, who loved his little family to the moon. Who had hair as black as the oil that always stained his skin and who couldn’t get enough of her mother. Her parents used to shine so bright and ageless in Frisk’s childish eyes. Why did life so cruelly chip away at them? Why couldn’t her father suspend time so she’d never have to worry about losing him the way she had lost her mother? But if she waited long enough, he would be gone, too, and her memories of him would be gray and withered—not at all like her memories of her mother, who was nothing more than plump, bright lips stretched over porcelain teeth, and sometimes, in Frisk’s dreams, with blood spilling down her chin.

Frisk’s eyes shot wide open, her breath catching in her chest as she rubbed her face with her blanket. The clock blinked angrily at her.

1:32

1 32

1:32

1 32

It was a nightmare. Don’t think about it.  
Just a nightmare.  
1:33.

Weight lifted off the bed, and her dad shuffled through drawers, tossing loose clothes at her feet. “Looks like you’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

One thirty-three. Thursday. “What about school?” She sat up and pulled the gray sweatshirt on over her tank top.

 _Duh_ , his eyes said, and she didn’t need any more permission than that to stay home.

“Work?”

An apology arched his brow.

But if he’d heard her crying, he hadn’t been to bed at all yet. She said, “I don't want to keep you up,” and slid out from under the covers, her toes brushing the carpet as she sat up.

“Can’t your old man have some breakfast with his daughter without having to put up a fight?”

“Sorry…I just…” He looked so tired. She shouldn’t tell him that, though. He must have been having a bad night, too.

Dad waved her worry away. “Get decent,” he said. “We’ll go to the diner.” And he left to put on clothes of his own.

 

**_ ii _ **

Nothing looked good, and she wasn’t really hungry, but even the waitress had started tapping her foot. “Just toast,” she said, closing the menu and slipping it to the edge of the table.

The smoky-eyed waitress tucked it under her arm and scribbled the order down with a smile. “That all, hon?” She had way too much energy. Frisk thought she’d be relieved to be done with her. After all, she had other tables. Though, that there were other tables to be had at this time of night baffled her.

“And eggs,” her father interjected sternly. “You can’t have just toast.”

But she wasn’t hungry. The waitress bubbled impatiently as she waited for Frisk’s decision. Frisk fiddled with her straw, ringing the ice against the glass. “Over easy…please,” she said, pushing a cube to the bottom of the sweaty water.

“Coming right up, darlin’s.” She twirled away, golden ponytail bobbing as she marched to the window with their orders.

They sat comfortably, and Frisk hummed along with the old country tune that played in the background. She knew all the words but couldn’t place how. She never went out of her way to listen song. She started singing along, only half anticipating the lyrics, feeling a little giddy when she got them right.

Her dad had a knowing smirk on his lips as he watched her.

That shut her right up. Her face felt hot. She took a nonchalant sip of water, because she didn’t care at all that someone noticed. It didn’t matter one bit. Why was he still smiling like that?

“Wha—” she started to ask and then caught her tone and turned it more to “annoyed teenager.” “Whaaatttt?” She hoped he wouldn’t get mad. If she acted cute, he couldn’t get mad. She scrunched her nose.

He chuckled, still smiling nostalgically. “You remind me so much of your mother. Sometimes I wonder if you don’t have a drop of anyone else’s blood in you.”

Frisk rolled her eyes. “I wonder, _Dad_.” She did look a lot like her father, even if he didn’t see it. For one thing, her mother’s hair was straight as a board, and Frisk was not lucky enough to have gotten that trait. For another, she’d inherited her dad’s gross eye bags. She did have her mother’s everything else, though. That honey and cinnamon complexion that traveled from her skin, to her eyes, to her hair. Her mother really was beautiful. She could tell from the pictures.

Frisk poked a finger into one of the eye bags, pulling it down to expose the pink inside her lid, and stuck out her tongue.

Her father shuddered. “Stop that, ya weirdo. You’re making me lose my appetite.”

She stopped. “The food’s not even here yet!” she complained.

The waitress swished up to the table, scooping a heavy plate of biscuits and gravy from her tray and setting it in front of Frisk’s father. She set the peaked toast and eggs in front of Frisk and placed her hand on her hip. “You know, we have a karaoke night every weekend,” she drawled. “I bet you this here meal that people would pay to hear you sang, sweetie.”

Oh God, had she been that loud? Frisk shoved as much of her fiery face as she could into her hands and begged her father for help with her eyes.

He sat up tall, leaning toward the waitress with a gleam in his eyes. His drawl became a little thicker, mimicking her. “You’re damn right, people’d pay, but I can hardly get this thing to sing in front of me, ’less she forgets anyone’s around.”

“Well,” the waitress said, “I bet you this here meal, and you just think about that.”

Frisk scooted her hands down her red face. “Was I that loud?”

He glanced at her over his bite. “You hush and eat your eggs,” he scolded, shoveling a meaty glob of gravy into his mouth.

She slumped back in her seat. The food didn’t look good at all. She could deal with the toast that was practically bread, but the eggs…the silverware that she shook from the paper casing thumped on the table. She picked up the fork and inspected it. No dirt. Dang. That could have been her excuse. Still, the eggs would taste worse if they were cold, so it was best if she ate them now. She sliced the center of a yolk and—

For just a second, her mother smiled at her, and _blood oozed_.

She set the fork down with a tink on the plate and picked up a triangle of toast, nibbling at the buttery pat in the center. Why the heck did she order them over easy?

Her phone chimed loudly, and she stopped midbite. She hoped it wasn’t _someone_ , but just a video or some stupid app that had the audacity to update in the middle of the night. There was no way all three of them were having a bad night, even though Sans had his share of them. She tore the bite off and set the crust on the plate, picking up her second triangle.

Her dad looked up at her, crunching on a strip of bacon. His expression was empty. He pointed at her with the stiff stick. “Frisk Harper, you’re not eating just toast.”

“I know, but…” Even thinking about the eggs made her queasy, and the small wave of worry washing against her insides didn’t help. “I’m just not very hungry.”

He jabbed the table with a thick, greasy finger. “I am your father.” Small pieces of the broken bacon strip scattered on the table.

She picked up the fork. Pricked at the second yolk. She really didn’t want it, but she cut it in half and scooped the outer end onto her fork.

 _Chrrriiing_ —

“Give me that thing!”

“But Dad—”

“Now, Frisk!” he opened his hand to take her phone.

Oh no. Oh no, this was bad. She reached tentatively into her pocket and thumbed the screen. What should she do? Dad was getting angrier and angrier, but if she gave it to him, _he would find out_!

He took a deep, growling breath—

And she yanked it from her pocket and dropped it in his hand.

That calmed him a little, but she was fucked anyway. Completely fucked.

“No one has business with you this time of night.”

What was she supposed to say? That Sans had brought her phone back to her after the party, and she’d thanked him, and the conversation just kept going? He would never be okay with that! Her mind dodged for a better excuse but came up empty.

“Who’s this ‘Sans’?” he asked, unimpressed by the messages—readier to lecture her than something worse.

“Just from school. A friend.” That was a fat lie. Please stop looking!

He did stop. He stopped and “poor, naïve Frisk” whirled away and turned into something darker.

“ _This_ fucker?”

No, no, no! What was it? What did he find?

He wasn’t yelling, not yet, but he didn’t need to yell to get his wrath across. “I give you an inch, and ya take the whole rope and hang yourself with it.”

“W-what?” Frisk croaked.

He turned the phone around, holding it out of reach.

Sans’s goofy face with crossed eyelights and a long, blue tongue sticking out at her.

She sank. The picture pulled their conversation to mind. That it was _odd for you to have a tongue, since you’re a skeleton and all_. And when he said he’d show her, she almost thought he would do something weird or gross. She was right about the weird part, but now…

“Nothing?” Dad asked, scowling.

She didn’t want this. She hadn’t had a friend in such a long time, and Sans didn’t even think she was a freak. He never even hinted at sex, except for making the occasional lewd pun, and he was _so nice_. “He’s really nice, though…”

Her father tightened his grip on the phone. “He’s _nice_?” The screen turned dark and then black. “Looks like he wants in your damn pants, to me.”

“He’s never even tried to—”

“I will not lose you to some freak _again_!” The anger tweaked, just for a second, into worry, but it was too late. She’d already seen it.

In her softest voice, she said, “Daddy, that won’t happen.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” he said, and he dropped the device to the floor, stood up, and smashed it under his heel.

Frisk watched as he went out the door, got into the car, and rolled back and away, leaving her alone in the restaurant.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
